The Day The World Ended
by Nyala Necheyev
Summary: Hogan's Heroes have always had the end of the war and the Allies' victory to look forward to. But what happens when one humdrum afternoon, a newspaper's headlines send all their hopes crashing down about their ears? A/U
1. The Beginning Of The End

**The Day The World Ended**

_A Hogan's Heroes/In The Presence of Mine Enemies Crossover_

_DISCLAIMER: "In The Presence of Mine Enemies" is a historical fiction by Harry Turtledove. It's a wonderful book, you should seriously check it out. I'm not making any profit off of this fic, so relax LOL I can't even afford a lawyer so why would I want to start a fight?_

The date was January 17th, 1946. The prisoners living in Stalag 13 were hanging around the barracks as usual, it being the late afternoon. Some played cards, some played pranks on the unsuspecting MPs, some bargained over Red Cross goodies… it was simply a normal day for those operatives working secretly for the Allies in what seemed to be the eye of the storm; the small town of Hammelburg received very little action, which made it a perfect place for Colonel Robert Everest Hogan and his fellow agents to work unsuspiciously. Few communiqués had come in from London in a while, but the boys still did everything they could to help win the Second World War.

Little did they know that on that sunny day, the remaining snow glistening almost musically, the grass just beginning to recover its greenness, the world as they knew it would end forever.

The uniformed mailman, driving in on his loud motorbike, barely caught the attention of Schultz, the portly sergeant of the guard, and the POWs outside before he dropped the mailbag onto the ground and without so much as a tip of the helmet wheeled about and roared off again. Sergeant Schultz ran forward to grab the post and parcels from the ground, then paused a moment to unfold the daily paper to read the large, bold, attention-grabbing headlines.

"Der Krieg ist zu Ende!" (1)

Schultz could scarcely believe the news. Finally! But wait – was this another one of Hogan's jokes? He had pulled it off once before… (2) The hopeful sergeant did the first thing he could think of – he ran straight to Barrake 2.

Inside, Newkirk, LeBeau and Kinch were playing Black Jack at one end of the long wooden table in the center of the room, while Carter tossed a small, green rubber ball about the size of a small apple up and down, up and down hypnotically from one hand to the other. Colonel Hogan was nowhere to be seen. Schultz could only hope that he was in his office doing something nice, instead of down in the … _stop! _

Carter, a nice boy as always, was the first to notice his hastened entrance. "Oh, hi, Schultz!" the yellow-haired American beamed, catching his ball with the left hand and holding it still, "Say, what's going on? You look kind of flustered."

"F-flustered?" Schultz parroted dubiously, then continued, "Where is Colonel Hogan? Where is he? I must speak with him, _sofort_!" (3)

"Why, what's wrong, Schultzie?" Now the three down at the other end of the table had taken notice of him, although Newkirk was the one who had spoken up. LeBeau and Kinch just stared silently, brown eyes moving from the paper in Schultz's hand to the guard's tiny, ecstatic blue eyes.

His hand shaking, Schultz turned the paper so they could see it. "The war is over!" he explained, acknowledging that most of the prisoners in the room could not read or understand German with the speed of somebody who had been born and raised in the country.

"No kiddin'," Newkirk replied, unimpressed, and turned back to his cards. "You in, Louis?"

"Wait a minute," Louis LeBeau, a short but fiery-tempered Frenchman, put out his hand in a halting motion as he looked at the newspaper in the guard's hand curiously, "Schultz, is that today's paper?"

"_Ja_!" Schultz replied, "It just came in! Now where is Colonel Hogan – Do I want to know?"

"Relax, Schultz," Kinch laughed, his dark face broken by a reassuring, white smile, "He's in his office."

"_Das ist gut!_" Schultz commented in relief and headed toward the small door across the barracks that lead to the small anteroom where the senior POW officer slept and worked. (4)

Colonel Hogan was just finishing up the dreadedly boring paperwork on his desk when the door opened and Schultz's round, white-mustached face peeped in cautiously. In seeing that Hogan was indeed where he was supposed to be (out of trouble), Schultz breathed an audible sigh of relief and stepped inside.

"Hiya, Schultz, what is it?" Hogan greeted him, getting up from his desk to face the visitor, "Run out of candy bars again?"

"No," Schultz replied, "I need to ask you – is the war really over? Really and for truly?" he pleaded with the expression of a child who, regardless of all the evidence to the contrary, still wanted to believe that Santa Claus was real and the Easter Bunny laid eggs in April.

Hogan was surprised at the question. "I don't know, Schultz. Why do you ask?"

Schultz handed him the day's paper. After glancing at the title and checking the date, the dark-haired American's eyebrows rose up into his forehead. "Well, I'll be," he murmured, just as surprised as Schultz was, "Looks like it."

"You… you did not plan this?" Schultz asked, still doubtful despite Hogan's response.

Hogan looked up from the paper and gave a small laugh. "Schultz, are you kidding me?" Clapping a hand on the guard's mammoth shoulder, Hogan handed back the newspaper and led him out the door. "If it is a hoax, it's got nothing to do with me. Now, why don't you read it to us?"

"R-r-r-read?" Schultz looked taken aback for a moment, then realized that all the other POWs were staring at him expectantly. Abashedly pleased at all the sudden attention, Schultz puffed himself up self-importantly. "Well, I suppose so, if you insist…"

"Go on, Schultzie!"

"Read it to us!"

"Come on!"

"We wanna hear it!"

Not even bothering to retain a humble expression, Schultz smiled with pride and cleared his throat. Propping the paper on his big belly, he began to read.

"_Der Krieg ist zu Ende; Um Mitternacht am sechzehnten Januar ..._ –"

"In English, Schultz, English!" Hogan reminded him patiently. Schultz looked up from his paper in momentary embarrassment.

"Oh, of course," he murmured, "I am sorry. Ahem!" he cleared his throat again – in English this time, of course – and began to read again.

"The War Has –"

"Forget the ruddy title!" Newkirk called out from the table, "Read the article already!"

"I'm trying!" Schultz grumbled, starting to get frustrated. Hogan, however, seeing that he'd get nowhere if people kept interrupting, offered some friendly encouragement by saying, "Go on, Schultz, you're doing great," and giving Newkirk a reproving look before the German continued.

"At midnight on the sixteenth of January, the Allies finally gave way to the power of the Third Reich –"

Hogan blinked in surprise. This wasn't at all what he'd expected to hear. Was Schultz mistranslating or something? "Um, Schultz, could you read that again?"

"Certainly," Schultz replied, then resumed, "'The Allies finally gave way to the power…'"

The rest of the article zipped by, unable to reach Hogan's ears as the stunned American sat down on the bunk where Carter was accustomed to sleeping at night. His brandy-colored eyes stared into space as he tried to sort out what he'd just heard twice without any doubt. The war was over… and the Allies had lost?

No… no way. No way in Hell would the Allies be beaten by a bunch of Facist nutcases like Hilter! It just wasn't possible!

And yet… there was the paper in Shultz's hand, clearly printed, and the expressions of the other POWs told him that they had heard the same thing and were probably suffering from the same shock of discovering that everything they had fought for, believed in and worked towards had just been destroyed with a few words on a piece of paper at midnight.

Why, G-d… why?

After Schultz left, in an ashamed silence after realizing that he'd just served as the devil's advocate by bringing bad news to the men, the POWs remained silent for a moment before young Sergeant Carter spoke up, his voice almost cracking mid-sentence.

"But why?"

Newkirk shook his head resolutely, refusing to accept what he'd just heard. "No. It's a sham, it's gotta be."

"One chance out of ten, Newkirk," Kinchloe pointed out, always the voice of reason. Hogan cursed him unintentionally for saying that. He didn't want to submit to the obvious. As he'd said before, everytime he got on a roll, Kinch had to start making sense. However, he couldn't blame the black man for only speaking what they all knew to be true. Odds were that it wasn't a political ploy. Yes, the media was full of ridiculous propaganda these days, but Hogan wanted to make sure of it.

"Kinch," he said finally, rising to his feet with a determined expression on his olive-toned face, "Get with London as soon as you can and check out this thing. We can't be too careful."

The order to keep on hoping put an almost immediate smile on his men's faces as their leader once again grabbed them by the bootstraps and yanked them out of the dumps of despair. There was still hope as long as they were a working operation.

There was no reply from London that night, however, nor in the next day, nor that night, nor any of the following days throughout the rest of the month. It seemed that, in an finial effort to protect the Heroes, London had cut all communication with them. They were now completely on their own, without even a call from Goldilocks to reassure them.

-

_To Be Continued_

1 – GERMAN: The War Has Ended!

2 – In the episode "The War Takes A Holiday", Colonel Hogan tricks everybody into thinking that the war is over so a few special prisoners can escape.

3 – GERMAN: Immediately

4 – GERMAN: That's good!


	2. Darkness Falling

**Chapter Two: Darkness Falling**

Colonel Hogan was unable to sleep the night of February 20th, his mind still trying to sort out, as it had been ever since January 17th, the reasons for the Allies' defeat. Things had been going pretty tough as of late, of course – the calling off of D-Day, the failure of Operation Crusader(1), and so on, but it still was hard to register how all these things had brought about the failing of the "good guys".

Getting down from his bunk, Hogan began to go through the missions he and his men had carried out. Had it been something they did? It couldn't have been… and yet, Dr. Suzette Lachay's words during that one operation rang in his head, unbidden. (2)

"If the Bosch develop a synthetic fuel it may prolong the war for years! They may even win!"

_They may even win… _

If anyone else had been in the room with Hogan, they could have heard the gears turning as his thoughts raced along the details of that mission – or not so much a mission as a suggestion that got put off. Colonel Hogan had decided that his men would definitely not carry out that mission or let Lachay kill herself for a suicide operation, regardless how important it was. They had instead decided to leave it to the Air Force, which had taken a little bit more time, but had proved less suicidal. Lachaise had gone back disappointed but alive, and the gang at Stalag 13 had never heard from her again.

It was possible, Hogan surmised, that the Germans had indeed succeeded in figuring out a way to make synthetic fuel, and the Air Force had been too late. It was his fault. If he'd acted sooner, and allowed Lachay to carry out the mission, then perhaps the war would have ended sooner and the world would not now be under the rule of a cruel, fascist government run by disillusioned "supermen".

However, if he explained this to his men, who were already depressed and broken by the news that all of their efforts for the past few years had been completely in vain, it would only make matters worse. Some, like Carter or Newkirk, who had originally suggested that they call the operation off, might take it personally, and there would be even less hope not just for them, but for the people back home waiting anxiously for their return.

On the other hand, odds were that they might work it out themselves, and then they would be afraid that Hogan would blame them, and he might not even know that they knew about the reason behind the Allies' defeat.

But the thing was that they weren't to blame! Hogan had been the one on whom the ultimate decision had rested, and it had been him who had said the final "No". Even so, the failure of Operation Hatchet had not been the only reason behind the Allies' defeat… but could Hogan count on them to realize that?

He decided to let the matter rest for the time being. Right now he needed to focus on the present; where and when the men were leaving, and how long it would be until something else erupted in their faces. London could only keep their operation secret for so long. Hogan tried to put himself in the shoes of the politicians, trying to anticipate what they were thinking overseas. If they told the Nazis about the operation, Hogan and his men would definitely be punished for treason, and that meant a firing squad. Five or more good men would die. On the other hand, if they didn't tell the Germans, the operation could be discovered on its own, and that would lead to extreme embarrassment and a whole new issue as to why the Allies didn't tell on them in the first place.

Hogan yanked his thoughts away from that. How glad he was that he didn't have to put up with those kinds of dilemmas! Yes, he was a leader himself, but not on a global scale like the late Churchill and the new president, Harry Truman. What a headache that would be! Just imagining it had sent him reeling.

The colonel finally went back to bed and dozed off into an uneasy sleep filled with strange dreams, recounting scenarios the way they had never happened, but the way he had wondered about them moments before.

-

The next morning, a dark green military truck pulled up during roll-call, and the prisoners began to stir uncomfortably as the stalag guards began to segregate the prisoners. Colonel Hogan quickly glanced at Sergeants Baker and Kinchloe, both blacks who worked under his command, wondering how he could prevent the inevitable from happening to at least a few of the people under his command.

Finally he stepped forward, interrupting the uneasy atmosphere. "What's going on, Commandant?" he challenged Klink, who was watching the proceedings while standing there foolishly with his riding crop tucked under his arm as usual.

"Silence!" ordered the colonel from the truck that had pulled up, "Get back in line!"

"Hogan, get back in line!" Klink parroted nervously, not wanting to be left out. The American gave him a scornful glare and turned to the other German.

"What are you going to do with my men?" he questioned, grabbing his subject by the sleeve, "I demand to know!"

Behind him, Newkirk, Carter, LeBeau and Kinch all exchanged concerned glances. Hogan was obviously just a hair's breadth away from getting shot down by some trigger-happy MP, and he had to know it.

The strange colonel simply backhanded the senior officer expressionlessly and continued on his way. Hogan recoiled instinctively, touching his stinging cheek as he got back to his feet, but that one slap had been all that the nerve-wracked POWs had needed for an excuse to rebel. In a cayotic thrust, the lines of disgruntled prisoners surged forward, the races mixed once again, creating enough disorder to give Kinch, Baker and some of the other colored soldiers a chance to dash back into the barracks and down the tunnels before the Krauts brought out the guns and the POWs had to go back to their positions or get killed. All in all, by Hogan's count, seven black prisoners that he could see had escaped. That was good, but not as good as he'd hoped.

Five remained. They were loaded into the truck while Klink and the other colonel argued and ranted about whose fault it was that the "_untermenschen_" had escaped, and the other prisoners were herded back into their respective barracks, locked in until the truck left an hour later.

"Colonel?" Carter asked, "Where d'you think they're taking them?"

Hogan frowned, not wanting to dwell on the grim fate that awaited those men who had just left. "To death camps," he replied simply. Carter's blue eyes grew wide, but he remained unusually silent.

"It's only just begun," Newkirk then pointed out, a half-burned cigarette in one slender hand, "Next'll be separation o' Asians an' Mexicans, an' then us whites'll finally be sen' 'ome." His words sounded unintentionally callous, even though he and Kinch had worked together often on missions, sometimes even teasing each other about what phony accents they could and couldn't master. Hogan forgave him the tense, detached aura he presented; they were all going through something similar, but dealing with it in different ways.

"But we're supposed to be going home!" Carter insisted, "All of us! What'll America do when they find out that –"

"What America?" Newkirk interrupted him, and walked away to a quiet corner so he could be alone. Newkirk wasn't one to show much affection, and this was one of those times he almost seemed to be an automaton for lack of emotional display. However, after living in the same place as him for over two years, three for some, the other tenants had come to understand that that was just the way he dealt with his problems – in silence, alone.

"So what do we do now, Colonel?" Louis asked, the only one who hadn't either bit somebody's head off yet or crawled off into a corner to cry, "We cannot disguise the men as Germans – the differences are kind of obvious." The joke fell flat, despite or because of its gallows quality.

Hogan turned to look out the window, a contemplative frown on his face. "I don't know," he replied, "I'll think of something."

He'd have to.

1 - By November 1941 in our universe, Commonwealth forces had launched a counter-offensive, Operation Crusader, in North Africa, and reclaimed all the gains the Germans and Italians had made.

2 – Episode "The Lady Doctor"


End file.
